The Dying of the Light
by Spense
Summary: Dean and Sam find more than they bargined for on a hunt for, of all things, Bigfoot. Limp Sam story, NOT a deathfic!
1. Chapter 1

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

**Summary:** A 'Supernatural' story. The Winchester brothers find something more ominous than Bigfoot during a trip to the Cascade Mountains, reminding both of Dean's comment during the Benders: "Demons I get; People are just crazy." Set during Season Two, some point after 'Everybody Loves a Clown' and prior to 'Croatoan'. **NOT a deathfic**!

Title is from the Dylan Thomas poem 'Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night'

**Part One, Chapter One**

"Angel of the backward look, with folded wings of ashen gray, and echoes of voices from far away." From 'Snow Bound' by John Greenleaf Whittier

The colors really were amazing. The red was startlingly bright. It seemed endless in its depth; rich, and coppery, and shimmering. A single drop slid slowly over his foot and spattered on the frosted rock. He was enamored with how the color spayed translucently against the barren stone.

He stepped forward again, lurching at the slight pain of the sharp rock on his bare feet. Fascinated, he looked carefully at his bare foot, nearly as white as the spiked frost on the rock below. Except where the red gash on his ankle provided some color. He stared for awhile, mesmerized.

Finally, stumbling, he proceeded forward. He wasn't really sure 'why' he was bothering to move. He really didn't have anywhere he wanted to go particularly. No, his feet just seemed to want to do it all on their own. So he let them, examining the shadowed gray landscape with awe.

Occasionally he brushed up against the harsh, rough bark of a tree and would stop to study the grain lines and the construction of it. He would look for a long while before he moved on.

Or once in awhile he'd fall, and would take the time to notice more of the deep red leaking from his bare knees, the redden scrapes on his legs and the slight blue tinge shade of his skin. Once again, he was entranced by the colors.

But for the most part, he just stumbled along, absently noting the sharp gravel under his bare feet, or the dead leaves he shuffled out of his way.

Time itself had no meaning. He just enjoyed the small things in the ground, or the bits of bright red color around him; that seemed to be coming from him. That was interesting. He frowned, wondering about it for a moment. Then deciding it wasn't worth worrying about, he stumbled on.

That is until a flash of blue invaded his senses. Interesting. He hadn't ever seen a tree that color.

Then the blue shaded into a red, translucent hue. It wasn't like the red on his ankle or knee. Nope. This was different. It caught his interest. He reached to touch the bark of the tree. And just as he did, it shifted back to a translucent blue. He stood mesmerized, watching the red shift to blue, back to red, then to blue again. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, or what made him turn. But turn he did. And this time his attention was caught by something completely different.

The brightness was nearly blinding, and it took him a minute to realize that it was the same red and blue lights. But brighter. Oh, so much brighter. They hurt his eyes. He lifted up a hand to shade them. The intensity faded after a moment, and he took in the rest of the scene. Police cars, several of them, light bars strobing the colors he'd seen were parked haphazardly all over the side of the road in front of him, gravel scattered with the force of their apparent stops.

Gravel. He looked down at his feet. The same gravel was under the, all over the ground. He wondered if the gravel hurt the tires of the cars like it hurt his feet. He looked up to the scene once more. Police were running, shouting. It was chaos. He was glad he couldn't really hear them, he bet they were noisy.

One person caught his eye. A man with a hard as flint face, short military type haircut, and an old leather jacket instead of a uniform. Something about him seemed . . . familiar? As he pondered this, the man looked up, and the far away gaze sharpened. Their eyes locked. He felt like an electric charge went through him. His feet started moving on their own once more. Was this where they wanted to go? To this man?

The far away man's mouth moved. And for the first time, he heard a sound. Clearly.

"Sam!"

Curious, he wondered what 'Sam' was.

Then all the attention was suddenly focused on him, and police were running towards him. He tried to back away, but stumbled and almost fell. And the police and the other man who had spoken were converging on him, frightening him. Claustrophobic, he tried to get away, and when that failed, his legs not obeying him, he fought back.

He didn't know what he was doing, but whatever it was, it was working. Sensations, the solid blow of his fist against a firm surface, something crunching under his other hand, appeared and disappeared, then he was restrained by arms around him from behind, and he was sobbing in terror and frustration.

The man's voice, again, the only clear thing in his ears, and this time it was very close, speaking again. He couldn't really understand the words, something about 'safe' and 'ok now' and 'Sammy'. What was okay now? He didn't get it, but the arms held him firm, and the others backed off, and he tried to breath again. And as he did, the canopy of trees above him shifted and darkened, and he decided it was best to go with them into the blackness, because now, somehow, he felt it was okay to let go. So he closed his eyes and followed the peaceful darkness away.

**_SNSNSNSN_**

Dean was running on pure adrenaline. It had been 36 hours since his brother went missing. Never patient under the best of circumstances, the situation right now had him wound to the breaking point. Even the hardened State Patrol officers were unconsciously avoiding him, picking up the non-verbal 'danger' aura around him. The situation was just too much like that with the Benders for him to feel anything even close to calm.

He ran his hand through his hair once again. He felt lost without the Impala and a weapon close at hand. Hell, he felt lost without his brother by his side. But the proximity of the State Patrol was a necessity, and he'd put up with a lot more than to get his brother back.

The sergeant he'd ridden with flagged him. Dean's attention snapped to him and he made his way through the chaos with long, sure strides. Sergeant Leary had been a marine in former years, making Dean more comfortable with him than any of the others. Leary seemed to feel the same.

"We've found some traces of disruption in the woods."

Dean nodded. They'd been working on trying to triangulate the location back at the office in Ellensburg when the call came in from a passing motorist. He'd seen something strange, like a ghost in the pre-dawn hours. It was close enough to the body dump sites to send all of them out. Dean rode along with Leary, not wanting to miss a first hand look. Since the 'ghost' had been moving, they were hoping to find a live one.

"Stay close," Leary commented.

Dean just nodded again, a still stone in the rushing pond of activity around him. By now, the State Police had accepted him into their fold, recognizing one of their own even without realizing it.

Dean looked out into the woods again, dawn blazing over the scene, but not easing the cold one bit. He shivered into his jacket, clenching his hands into fists in the pockets.

He hoped Sammy was warm, wherever he was. Damn kid still seemed to react like he was still in California, even though it was nearly 18 months. It had been a miserable six months dealing with John's death. He wished his dad were here right now, a strong figure next to him. Solid support. Sam was beginning to take that place. Or had been until Dean had shut him out. Damn Dad and that secret. Well, that was for another time. He just wanted the kid back. In one piece. And unharmed. And to put a bullet through whatever had taken him.

He must have been throwing off that danger vibe again, because a couple of the cops in his vicinity had begun to do double takes at him again. He purposely took a deep breath and began to hum Metallica under his breath. Huh. Danger vibe. He'd get lots of mileage with that from Sam. Since Sam only seemed to have 'puppy vibe'. He grinned a little to himself at that one. And couldn't wait to use it on Sammy. And that brought him full circle back to 'Sam was gone'. He was beginning to feel like a Hamster on one of those exercise wheel things.

Then he saw a flash in the woods.

**_SNSNSNSN_**

Dean looked incredulously at the chopper as it landed. No frickin' way. After 36 hours of sheer, unadulterated hell, he was now expected to ride in a helicopter. Not just an airplane, but a monster that could turn faster than his car (maybe - hadn't yet been proved, and he'd pit his baby with him behind the wheel against ANYTHING) and was an open tin can. He was not trusting his brother (or himself) to that thing.

But another look at Sam, still unconscious, covered with swarming paramedics and bright red blood made his phobia seem irrelevant. Almost.

'Only for you, Sammy. Only for you,' he thought as he followed his brother's gurney into the aircraft. 'I've just lost Dad. I'm so not losing you too.'

Dean sat to one side, huddled in as close to Sam as he could get, one hand hanging onto his brother's, trying to ignore his churning stomach. He wasn't airsick. It was just reaction to Sam. Winchester's didn't get airsick. Unless they were Sam. He got carsick, airsick, any kind of wussy sick there was. But not Dean. He wasn't hanging on to Sam for dear life for his sake, nope. He was trying to reach Sam. The Life Flight staff had given up trying to keep him back. By this time they knew it just ain't going to happen.

Dean swallowed hard as he looked at his brother and listened to the yelled conversation from the paramedics. The helicopter was not quiet by any stretch of imagination.

Sam looked abysmal. The neck brace looked like something on a morgue table, and Sam's pallor under the oxygen mask didn't make it look all that impossible. His right eye was swollen shut, and the bruise coming up under his nearly translucent skin promised more colors than a kaleidoscope. It was apparent he'd been beaten badly, and it looked like he had a dislocated shoulder. Considering he was only wearing an undershirt and a pair of boxers in 20 degree weather meant everything was on view. Clearly, he had internal injuries. The quick glance Dean had gotten of Sam's hard, swollen abdomen and the bruising before he was swaddled in blankets confirmed it. But it was his feet that had gotten Dean's attention.

They were shredded. The soles of both feet were bloody pulp. And he had a massive gash on his left ankle over the top of his foot. To add to the carnage, both knees and shin's were skinned, and well as the palms of his hands, adding to the impression that he'd been stumbling around, falling regularly.

Dean's lips tightened again as he thought of the sight of his terrified brother, scared witless as they'd rushed towards him. Dean had tried to stop it, knowing that Sam would fight when cornered. And fight he did, damn near breaking the jaw of the first deputy who reached him. Dean managed to get hold of Sam right after that, grabbing him in a bear hug from behind, keeping him from damaging himself more than worrying about the all-to-real concern of him damaging others.

Now all he wanted was for Sam to look at him. But the hand crushed in his was still.

". . . Mr. Winchester!"

He looked up, suddenly aware that one of the paramedics was trying to get his attention. "What!" He yelled back over the noise of the chopper.

"What's his name?" The paramedic yelled back.

"Sam!" He hated carrying on a conversation at full volume.

The medic nodded and turned his attention to Sam, trying to get a response, and holding a pen light at the ready. Nothing.

The medic looked up again. "See if you can get a response!"

Dean nodded. "Sam! Sammy!" He yelled, pad of his thumb rubbing his brother's hand. Such a small motion compared to the yelling they were having to do in the chopper. However it seemed to work. Sam eyes began to move erratically, frantic under closed lids.

The medic nodded for him to continue.

Finally, Sam seemed to pry his lids up halfway, and Dean grinned. About time. "Hey Sam! Bout time. You weren't going to make me ride in this thing alone were you!?"

Sam's attention followed the words back to their owner, causing a mega watt Dean grin, which quickly faded when it was clear there was nobody home in his little brother.

"Sam?!" Dean tried again, rewarded with the sagging eyes wandering back to him, again, no recognition in them.

A jolt made him clench suddenly, and look up quickly.

"We're landing," the medic yelled at him, then quickly looking at Sam's eyes with the light.

Dean looked back at his brother, who's eyes had lolled shut again. He didn't think he felt any better now that Sam had come round. Things actually just seemed worse.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dying of the Light

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

Note: As always, I seem to forget the disclaimers. I don't own, just playing, don't sue.

And I forgot to thank the inimitable K. Hannah Korossy for the wonderful suggestions and keeping me on track when I was drafting this story. Thanks for your help and encouragement!

Chapter Two

"Mr. Winchester?"

The voice was welcome. Dean had been sitting for hours, running in his head Sam's injuries. Sergeant Leary had joined him as soon as he could, and lent a quietly needed moral support while the doctor ran down the list.

Exposure, check. Shock, check. Badly beaten, bruised, contused, whatever. Check. Dislocated hip that had apparently popped back into place on it's own, just severely inflamed now. Badly strained shoulder. Wrists skinned badly from rope burn. Sammy had clearly been trying hard to get free. Dean had shuddered when he thought what would cause that kind of frenzy. Badly bruised kidney, but what internal bleeding had been going on was apparently stopping on it's own. Cracked ribs and badly sprained wrist. But the worst were Sam's feet. He'd shredded them practically to the bone. He wouldn't be walking anywhere for awhile. The doctor was optimistic regarding a full recovery, but did say it would take awhile.

Leary had had to leave. A quick squeeze on Dean's shoulder and he was gone, and Dean was alone. Alone like he'd not ever been. No Dad, no Sammy. When Sam was gone, he'd at least had Dad. Now Dad was gone permanently (_nonononono_), and Dean had been pushing away the one person who made him whole. And now it might be too late.

Now, after sitting for hours in the waiting room, he was glad for the distraction of the doctor walking towards him. He stiffened unconsciously, bracing for who knew what.

"Mr. Winchester, Sam is in recovery and the surgery went very, very well."

Dean felt like he deflated as the doctor smiled. "Sam is in recovery. Shelly will let you know when you can see him."

Dean's relief made him loose track of time until another nurse (Shelly he hazarded, too distracted to even hit on the attractive woman of about his age), a slightly worried line between her brows appeared.

"What?" As soon he processed the look (longer than normal given his exhaustion) Dean was on his feet so fast he was almost dizzy.

"Mr. Winchester, Sam is fighting coming around. I'm hoping you could help."

"Show me the way," Dean said grimly, ready to nearly push her towards the recovery room.

SNSNSNSN

He was trapped. Again. He'd thought he was free, but he couldn't move. Panic filled him, making him breathe quickly. Hands on him scared him more, making to defend himself.

Voices were intruding, unknown voices, asking, demanding, frustrating him.

Then a familiar touch, combined with familiar words cleared his head and the safety made him swim towards consciousness.

"Easy buddy, . . . just tangled in the blankets . . . hang on . . ." The familiar mutter was combined with a freedom, a LACK of 'trapped' and a sense of safety, and he could move again. He clenched his now free hand around the blanket, bunching it up and holding it hard, and desperately wrenched open his eyes.

"Hey, Sammy, glad to see you again," Dean smiled at him, perched on the edge of his bed, a careful smile lightening his tired face.

Sam thought his brother looked guarded. _'What the h . . .'_ "De . . n?" he finally managed to stutter, sounding garbled even to himself.

It must have made sense to Dean, because the slightly hooded gaze lifted, replaced by a true, unguarded, patented 'Dean' grin. The one few ever saw. Sam blinked at that, the expression penetrating even the hazy fog that surrounded him as he unconsciously let go of the blanket and reached out to grab Dean's hand, lying near his own on the bed, in a death-like grip.

Dean's smile got even bigger, if that was possible. "Welcome back, Sammy." Quietly.

SNSNSNSN

He was cold. Freezing cold. He was so tired of being cold. But the cold kept the pain away, and it kept him alive. He knew that. And he had to stay alive. He had to talk to his brother. Had to see Dean, and tell him how sorry he was for being such a jerk.

No, something was wrong. He always called Dean a jerk. Didn't he?

It was too cold. He couldn't think straight.

"Geez Sammy, you're going to freeze to death if you keep doing that. I go away for a second . . . " The voice faded out, and then his legs were covered by warmth, getting warmer.

He sighed with relief. Being warm enough could never be overrated. The warmth spread, and he lazily opened his eyes.

Dean was there. He was spreading a blanket over Sam, and tucking in the edges the best he could given all tubes the snaking around the bed.

How Dean be here? Sam had been worried about him, had been trying to get to him. Hadn't he?

Suddenly Dean turned and noticed Sam's open eyes.

"Hey! Welcome back," he said with a gentle smile. The one that looked like a lamb disguised as a barracuda. The smile was sweet and lacking all guile. "How ya' doing?"

Sam noted the smile absently, knowing it must mean something, but he sure couldn't guess what. He licked his lips and tried to talk. "Cold."

Dean lifted his eyebrows. "Still? Need another blanket?"

"Uh-uh," Sam managed to stutter. "B-before."

Dean dropped to his chair, placed near the head of Sam's bed. "Well, if you'd stop kicking off the blankets you'd stay warmer," he pointed out, putting a warm, comforting hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam tried to process that, but it was too hard. He just nodded absently.

His brother smiled again, this time full of humor. "Not firing on all cylinders there, are ya, Sammy?"

Sam ignored him, feeling like he was swimming through a fog. "W-where?"

"ICU." When it was clear that wasn't meaning much to Sam, Dean clarified further. "Hospital. You've had surgery. You'll be fine, okay?"

"'Kay." He processed that slowly, licking his dry lips once more. Before he knew it, Dean was getting some ice chips into his mouth, and they tasted like heaven.

"Better?"

"Uh-huh." The ice tasted amazing. How . . ." He tried again. "How did I get here?" He felt slow.

Dean thought about the helicopter and looked again at his brother's face. Nope, they'd do that later. "Found you on the side of the road. Want to tell me how you got there?" He forced all his desperation to 'know' down ruthlessly. Sam was in no condition to deal with anything besides putting words together in a coherent fashion.

"Huh?" Sam's brow furrowed.

Dean counted to 10. "What's the last thing you remember, Sammy?" He leaned forward, intense.

Sam frowned. "Motel?" he guessed.

"No, Sammy, after that," Dean reminded him patiently.

"Here." Sam said slowly, the light beginning to dawn in his eyes, fear clearing the cobwebs. "Here," he said more strongly.

Dean watched the panic beginning to grow, and eased himself up and closer to the bed, the hand resting on Sam's shoulder became a careful grip. He gave Sam a gentle shake to remind him that he was there. "Easy, Tiger."

"Dean, what happened to me?" Sam's voice began to rise.

"Calm down," Dean soothed, eyes going up to the nurses station across the large, open room of the ICU.

The nurse looked up, caught Dean's eye, saw Sam's agitation, and was heading their way in moments.

"Dean! No! What happened?" Sam demanded, eyes widening.

Then the nurse was there and pushing back the blanket and injecting a sedative into Sam's arm.

"Sammy, easy, we'll find out, okay? Promise." Dean talked reassuringly as the energy drained from his little brother and he was suddenly asleep once again.

The nurse just smiled at Dean and patted his shoulder. "He'll be okay. He's just been through a lot. We'll just get him on something to take the edge off, okay?"

Dean nodded as he dropped back to his chair, staring pensively at his little brother as Sam's face smoothing out in sleep. Things had gotten significantly more difficult. If Sam couldn't remember, then where would they start? His lips thinned. No matter. Nothing on earth would stop him finding out who did this. But he was going to need some help. He couldn't leave Sam alone, and there were very few people he trusted in a situation like this.

SNSNSNSN

"Bobby?"

Dean's voice on the phone could only mean one thing. Trouble. Interesting trouble, but trouble none-the-less. "What have you managed to stir up now?" Bobby Singer answered, amused, as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear and continued working on the carburetor he had spread on the workbench.

While the situations the brothers found themselves in could be initially irritating, they generally proved to be fairly entertaining. And this was far more normal that the last call he gotten about the car accident. He was glad that things seemed to be settling from the strain of losing John. The boys just needed some time together in order to put things right between them.

A long pause.

"Dean?" Bobby's hands stilled.

"Sam's down. He's in the hospital."

Shit. "Where are you?"

"Ellensburg, Washington State." Dean's voice seemed to steady as Bobby's no-nonsense voice emanated from the other line.

Double shit. That was a ways away. "What happened?"

A pause. "Just . . . get here Bobby."

"Dean!"

"We were investigating . . ." Dean trailed off.

"What? What were you investigating?" Bobby demanded sharply.

"Ah . . ."

"Geez Dean, spit it out, will ya?"

"Bigfoot."

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, right. So what were you investigating?"

"I told you. Bigfoot. You know? Sashquatch? Real tall, kind of like my giant brother?" Dean sounded irritated.

Bobby decided to let that one go. Sounded like they really had just wanted a vacation. Not surprising, given he stress they'd been under. It would be in Dean's character to say they were working when they were really just backing off for awhile. "So let me guess, you found Windiego instead. Fed your brother to him?"

"No," Dean snarled. "Sam disappeared 2 days ago."

"What!!" Any further idea of trying to lighten Dean up a little was gone from Bobby's mind.

"He's back," Dean hastened to add. "We found him early this morning. He wandered out of the woods. He was only in shirt and boxers and it's like 25 degrees outside."

"Is he okay?" Bobby demanded, knowing as he said it that it was probably a really stupid question..

The silence on the other end was deafening.

"Dean!" Bobby commanded, impatient.

The John Winchester training of obeying orders was too good. "He's in ICU." Dean admitted softly.

Double Shit on ice cream. "How bad?" Bobby asked firmly, compassion clear in his tone.

"Shock. He was nearly catatonic. Maybe drugs. They're not really sure. They're checking his blood now for all kinds of crap. They Life Flighted him over. And . . . the bottoms of his feet are . . . pulp. They had a micro-surgeon repair them." Dean's voice grew stronger. "Bobby, he doesn't remember anything. I need some help here. I need to find what did this, but I can't leave Sam alone. Not until I have some idea of what's going on."

Bobby had heard enough. "Hang on kid, I'm on my way."


	3. Chapter 3

The Dying of the Light

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

**Chapter Three**

Bobby finally tracked Dean down in Sam's cubicle in the ICU ward. It had taken an act of God to get in there. Between receptionist, nurses, security and deputies, no less, nobody was letting ANYBODY get near Sam. It wasn't until a nurse saw the note pinned on the file in the computer that Dean was to be contacted when Bobby arrived that he got anywhere.

"I'm so glad those two have some family," the elderly clerk said, concern in her voice.

Bobby held his patience with extreme measures, not pointing out that he could have been with them two hours earlier without the run-around.

Dean was clearly on alert, and looked like he was living on caffeine. Seated in a mildly comfortable chair, the curtains partitioning off Sam's area in the large room were drawn in order to provide what little privacy an ICU patient was allowed. Dean looked up, tense, ready for action, then stood down with naked gratitude as he recognized Bobby.

"You go here fast," Dean commented, clearly near the exhaustion point. His body was going to demand rest, and soon. He hadn't slept since Sam had up and disappeared. He was just glad Bobby got here before he succumbed.

"Flew," Bobby comment. "You might try it sometime." Then winced as he remembered that Sam had been Life Flighted here. "How's the kid?" he asked, as he looked at Sam. Sam looked as white as the sheets, with only a hint of color in his cheeks, hinting at the fever that was surely brewing, and the bruising that was promising to be spectacular. His right eye was swollen shut. But the sheet and light blanket loosely draped over him was displaced and kept from draping over the bed by the multitude of tubes and wires snaking under it that hinted at other issues. He looked uncomfortable even in sleep.

Dean shrugged and sighed, then ground his palms into his eyes before speaking. All neon tells to Bobby, alerting him to just how strung out Dean was.

"He'll be okay. But it's going to take more than a little while. And it's going to be a long time before he can stand again."

"How bad?"

Dean winced again at the thought. "Gravel, dirt, all kinds of crap ground in nearly to the bone. They've cleaned it, hoped they got it all, and put all the little pieces back together again. Apparently the micro surgeon was one of the best in the area. He sees no problems as long as the infection is under control and we keep him off his feet. I don't even want to guess how it happened."

"Good thing I still have the spare room set up."

Dean looked surprised.

"What? You just said Sam's not going to be walking for awhile. Where else you idjits going to go?"

Dean opened his mouth. Shut it again.

Bobby didn't let him say a word. "It will be good to have somebody help me with the cars, and I've got tons of research that needs to be done."

Dean finally gave a shaky nod, the gratitude showing in his eyes was held close to the vest, but that those people close to him could read easily. Sammy'll be in geek heaven," he added with a credible level of Dean-snark given the situation.

Bobby cut him some slack and changed the subject, now that Sam's convalescence was settled. They just had to get him to that point. "So what's the diagnosis besides the feet? And what's the prognosis?"

Dean recited the list. It was daunting, but all would heal - eventually. His convalescence would be long, no question. "The only real concern besides his feet was badly bruised kidneys. There was blood in his urine, still is as a matter of fact, but it's better. The bleeding seems to be stopping, and his kidneys are still functioning okay, but they are being really cautious."

"I'll bet," Bobby muttered. "Okay." A pause. "So what happened?"

Dean looked serious and very near desperation. "I don't know."

Bobby just raised his eyebrows into his ball cap and didn't say a word. As he'd hoped, the floodgates opened.

"Like I said, we were here to looked for Bigfoot." At Bobby's amused huff, he defended himself. "Hey, Blewitt Pass, back side of the Cascade Mountains? They see it all the time. We saw some new reports and thought they looked credible."

At Bobby's continued skepticism, Dean rushed on. Bobby noticed that although Dean was talking too him, a part of his attention was on any movement Sam made, and he wasn't letting go of his brother's hand.

"We were in the motel that afternoon. Sammy was researching. He'd come across a bunch of kind of odd local news reports. He got sidetracked onto that. It was bits and pieces, but he noticed a pattern of bodies turning up on the side of the road in the pass. Four, scattered over the last six months. He couldn't believe there wasn't much more of a fuss; thought they might have a serial killer." Dean shrugged. "I thought he was blowing smoke. Didn't seem like anything we'd be interested. Just some sort of sick Ted Bundy type and the police were trying to keep it quiet. I went out to earn our keep. When I got late that night, Sam was gone."

Bobby noticed the fact that Dean would only look at Sam during his monologue, and wouldn't meet his eyes. So, Dean and Sam were still at odds, just like they had been at his house. His best guess was they'd had a fight before Dean had departed. And from the look on Dean's face, he'd probably been with some woman when his brother was taken, and now felt guilty as hell.

"How did you find him?" Bobby finally asked quietly.

Dean finally met his eyes. "I didn't. Sam found me."

Ah. _'Shit_.' Bobby sighed heavily. They weren't just going to have to put Sam back together, he was going to have put Dean back together as well.

SNSNSNSN

Bobby sat in a small conference room of the hospital with the unexpected company of a State Patrol Sergeant. Drew Leary, he'd introduced himself. Dean was amazingly comfortable with the man. Dean? Comfortable anywhere in the vicinity of law enforcement? That was a new one. After further study, Bobby thought he might understand why. The man was very much like John. Age, ex-Marine, the whole thing.

"Anyway, Dean wanted me to fill you in." Leary was saying.

"No problem. I know the doc was coming to talk to him about Sam, and he didn't want to leave, and the ICU wasn't exactly the place for this conversation."

"Nope. How is Sam?"

"Better. Stable."

"Remember anything yet?"

Bobby gave the sergeant a 'look'.

Leary laughed. "Yeah, I know, but I had to ask."

Bobby just snorted. "Okay, fill me in."

Leary drew in a deep breath, then sighed. "Dean came to me yesterday morning, about 6am. He'd been all over town looking for his brother. He dumped a load of papers on my desk, informed me that we had a serial killer, and now his brother was missing."

Bobby held back a laugh. That was Dean.

"Needless to say, I was pretty surprised. We'd kept everything quiet. The inference was that these people were missing hikers."

Bobby nodded to himself. Sounded like Dean, especially when a problem with Sam might be involved. All the cards were on the table.

Leary continued. "Something about the way Dean talked, and the way he evaded questions seemed very familiar to me. And I finally pegged it. John Winchester."

Shock was naked on Bobby's face as he looked up, and met Leary's knowing gaze.

Leary smiled slightly. "Are you familiar with, uh, John's . . . line of work?" He asked carefully.

Bobby nodded firmly. "I'm in the same line."

Leary relaxed completely. "Thank God. To be able to talk openly about it is an amazing relief." He continued, answering the unspoken question in Bobby's eyes. "John helped me out a couple of years ago. He was up here alone. We'd had an old mine that was, well, attracting people, and they were dying in odd ways and at an alarming rate. John had found out about it, and well, we were both Marines, and we both liked to have a beer or two. He took care of the problem, and the evening before he left, got buzzed and told me about his sons. Dean was off on another job, and his youngest was in college. Full ride to Stanford. He was so proud."

His smile broadened. "He sure liked to talk about his boys." The smile faded. "I'm sure sorry to hear about his death. Though, I have to say, Dean is just a younger version of John."

Bobby laughed, feeling like it was the first time in a very long time. "Well, that sure explains why Dean is using his own name. He almost always uses an alias," he muttered, smiling slightly at Leary's knowing grin, then continued. "Sun rose and set on those two for John, that was for sure. Had kind of an odd way of showing it, though."

Leary nodded thoughtfully. "I'd guess. Hard to be in that 'business' with kids."

"He kept them alive," Bobby said non-committably.

"And looks like he prepared them well. Only reason Sam survived this, if I don't miss my guess. All the other victims appeared to have been turned loose, just like Sam. The trail they each left was obvious and erratic, and given that, it was likely that they were as disoriented as Sam. Only they didn't make it, and Sam did. That is a miracle in itself."

Bobby nodded, not surprised.

Leary continued. "We followed each victims trail back to it's inception, and it looked like they just appeared out of thin air. Each one a different place, with nothing around it. No caves, no buildings, not trails. Just poof, and they appeared." He sat back, getting back onto his track of the discussion.

"So, go oh," Bobby directed, satisfied that the sergeant had covered all the bases. The man would make a good hunter should he ever choose to.

"So I hit Dean with the fact that I knew his Dad. I think that threw him as much as Sam missing."

"I'll bet," Bobby muttered, not doubting that for a minute.

"So when Dean laid out all the ground work that Sam had put together in a day, veritably duplicating the work it had taken my staff 3 months to put together, I knew we had a problem. The Winchester's were correct. We had a serial killer in our midst, and he's careful - very, very careful. Every couple of months over the last year and a half a body turns up. Usually a stranger, but not always."

"Ellensburg is a college town. Central Washington University is here, and frankly, we get enough strangers just coming to party, to visit, and also to hike and be left alone, that it's hard to tell. But the bodies would turn up in the same 2 to 3 mile stretch of highway on Blewitt Pass."

Bobby nodded. "What kind of shape were they in?"

Leary looked at Bobby and gave him a wry grin. "Dean asked the same question. Basically they were in the same shape as Sam reappeared in. But he's alive. Don't ask me how."

A slow nod from Bobby. "Sam's got a pretty amazing survival mechanism. Dean as well. Those boys seem to have 99 lives. They've used up 9 lives several times over and still keep coming back. And I'm with you, I don't have a clue as to why." Actually Bobby did have a clue. In fact he was pretty sure he knew why. It had to do with the fact that they seemed to live for each other, but that wasn't something he'd talk to Leary about. "What about the autopsies?"

Leary grimaced. "Again, about what you'd expect. Beatings, broken bones, torture. And a really odd drug cocktail." At Bobby's raised eyebrows, he elaborated. "Weird stuff. Stuff health food nuts would term nutraceuticals. Not drugs per say, but a really bizarre mixture of plants and herbs that seem to have really random and contradictory results. One would be a stimulant, another a sedative, and another an outright poison. How they'd affect each other nobody knows. Our toxicologist couldn't make heads or tails of it. Some of them were natural remedies from the early part of the 1900s, and other just seemed to be somebody's experimentations with getting high. Bad stuff. Each one seemed to be a different mixture, like somebody was using the victims not only to torture, but also to experiment on. Each one is different."

Bobby felt himself turn cold. "Sam?"

Leary sighed heavily. "The initial tox screen showed he had a bunch junk in his system as well. We're waiting for the definitive breakdown now. But it was pretty certain given the shape he was in when we found him."

Bobby rubbed at his eye, digesting this, then met Leary's eye again. "Isn't his doctor worried about reactions?"

Leary nodded. "Of course, but they are being really carefully. It's another reason he's in ICU. But so far so good. Whatever the stuff is concocted of, it's fading by the hour, and he's getting more and more coherent. But they're testing his blood every couple of hours. Poor kid is going to think a vampire got him."

Bobby winced. Little did Leary know that those were real too. He decided to keep that little fact to himself. The man didn't need to know that every nightmare really existed. "Dean know?"

Leary just quirked an eyebrow at him.

Bobby grinned. Dumb question. Dean was probably looking of the tox screener's shoulder as he worked, and peppering him with questions. He changed the subject. "How did Sam get taken?"

"That's the thing. Dean doesn't know. He had gone out, and when he came back at about 2am, Sam was gone. No sign of a struggle, nothing out of place, no note - nothing. Dean swore that it was out of character for his brother."

Bobby nodded again. "It is, as far as I know. Dean would know better. And if he tells you it's fact, then believe it. When did he come to you?"

"Like I said, about 6am. Once I realized he was John's son, I took him seriously." At Bobby's raised eyebrows, he returned the look. "Hey, like I said, this is a college town. We get all kinds of nut cases. Less than most, but still."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Go on."

"Honestly, I didn't hold out much hope. The disappearance sounded the same, and frankly we were due. It was about time. And I knew what kind of shape the bodies were in when we found them. Stripped to their underwear, most deaths caused by exposure and blood lose, but some by the drugs. Just depended on which got them first. They were clearly turned loose to die."

"Any special type of victim?"

Leary shook his head. "Nope. Men, women, no similarities in age or race or looks. Just . . . random. All disappeared without a struggle. There is one really weird thing, though." He gave an ironic laugh at his own turn of phrase. "Well, weirder than anything else."

He paused for emphasis. "Nobody else takes this seriously, but I think we may have a problem of the type that John Winchester usually dealt with. The bodies, and the victim type, or lack of victim type, and similarities right down to where the bodies are found is reminiscent right down to a dead serial killer from the 1920's. Archibald Turner."

Bobby closed his eyes. Great. Just great. A live serial killer? A dead serial killer? Both? That was all they needed. The only good thing about it was that at least Dean would get to shoot something.

The door to the conference room opened, startling both men. They swung around in tandem to glare at the newcomer. Dean stopped dead, looked at both of them with raised eyebrows.

"Geez, startle much?" he grinned as he moved to join them at the conference table.

"How's Sam?" Bobby asked immediately.

Dean gave a tired shrug. "About the same. The doc was just in looking him over. Stable, and he's pleased with his progress. If he continues this way, they'll run some tests in the morning, then move him to a regular room tomorrow night. They also want a psychiatrist to come look at him because he's so unsettled when he's awake." Dean's voice hardened. "I told them no. Sammy would be fine."

"Are you sure?" Leary's voice expressed some doubt. "This kind of thing would be pretty traumatic. To be hurt that bad, and not remember . . . well . . ." he trailed off.

"No," Dean said implacably. "All Sammy needs to do is help research and find this thing. He'll feel like he's doing something. And he'll be even better when we find whatever this 'thing' is. I did let them give him some meds to help him calm down some. Take the edge off."

Bobby didn't even argue. In Winchester logic, it made perfect sense. Leary just nodded slowly, clearly taken aback at the young man's authoritative demeanor.

"Where's Sam?" Bobby asked, knowing damn well that Dean would not be here if he was allowed to be with Sam."

"Bath time. They kicked me out." He gave a tired grin as he dropped into a seat.

"Sam okay with that?" Bobby was skeptical. It wasn't like Dean to let himself get that far away, nor for Sam to let him when he was hurt this bad.

"Sedated."

Ah. That explained it. Bobby nodded his understanding. Sam wouldn't have a chance of waking up and panicking.

"Are you going back to the motel?" Leary asked. "If so, I'll drop off the information on Turner I told you about this afternoon."

"Nope. I'm going to stay here. Doctor Howard bent the visiting hours for me."

"For how long?" Leary asked, surprised. He knew Doctor Howard and knew that wasn't in character.

"For as long as I want," Dean grinned. "I'll be spending the night in ICU, flirting with the nurses."

Bobby snorted and turned to Leary. "Give me the research on Turner. I'll go back to the motel when visiting hours end."

"Will do," Leary nodded. "Now, I've gotta go."

Bobby nodded. "Dean and I'll grab a bite. We'll be in the cafeteria until Dean's allowed back."

That settled, they headed off to their various destinations.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

By the late afternoon of day two, Sam was out of ICU and into a regular room, his condition upgraded to stable. His blood work was clearing slowly, but nicely, and he was recovering well from the surgery. He still slept a lot, and was restless when he was awake. Dean was keeping a wary eye on him, recognizing that Sam was still pretty edgy. There hadn't been any repeats of Sam's panic in the ICU ward, and Dean just chalked that up to the medication they'd given him to calm him. The stuff was doing it's job of keeping Sam's panic under wraps, added to the natural clearing of the crap that had been used on him while he was missing. Plus, Sam was just too damn exhausted to work himself up. But it didn't stop him from being restless and out of sorts. Regardless of his lack of conscious memory, his reactions were those of post-trauma beyond a shadow of a doubt, and his unease was just another example.

Dean didn't make an issue of it, but he kept a careful eye on his little brother. Sam was clearly in pain, and Dean made sure the nurses knew when it was getting out of hand. Sam may not say anything, but Dean had no compunction. He also knew that the pissy attitude his brother was displaying was a combination of pain, uncertainty and fear. Fear of not knowing what happened, how it happened, and how to stop it from happening again. So far he hadn't ask Dean about theories and Dean didn't push, but he knew it was getting close. And when he was ready to put his mind too it, Dean was turning the research over to his little brother. It would help him mend. But in the mean time, Dean was just keeping a close eye on him, and it was making both of them crazy.

Sam pushed at the blanket in frustration. He was hot, then he was cold, then he was roasting. He knew it was the fever but it didn't help.

"Leave it, Sam," Dean said quietly, not even looking up from the Guns and Ammo magazine he was reading. They were waiting for Bobby to arrive back from the motel where he'd gone for a nap. He was going to check in with Leary on his way back.

Sam glared at him, and shoved at the blanket again in frustration. He knew he was being an ass, but he couldn't help it, he felt lousy.

Dean still didn't pry his attention from the magazine he was reading; he just reached out the flipped the blanket back up over his little brother.

"Dean!"

Dean sighed, and looked up at his querulous brother. "Sam, you have a fever. You don't want to get any sicker, okay? You've been battling hypothermia, isn't that enough?" he asked patiently. Sam was acting about 8 instead of 23. But honestly, Dean couldn't blame him. Sam had to feel absolutely lousy.

The bruises on Sam's face and jaw were remarkable colors, and the swelling in his right eye still kept it closed. The bandage showing around his wrists and binding his left hand were the visible signs of damage, as was the elevated foot of the bed. The unseen tally of nearly 80 stitches, 45 of which were evenly spread between his feet and the gash on this left ankle, added to the internal damage, worst being the badly bruised kidneys and cracked ribs, although the pain from his damaged hip made the score dauntingly high. Add hypothermia, unknown drugs, blood loss, and the fear of pneumonia lurking close was enough to make sure that everybody would be keeping a close watch on him for quite awhile. And even as alert and with it as Sam was, he wasn't going anywhere for awhile.

Sam shifted restlessly, the TV just not holding his attention. He was too edgy to read, and ditto with the computer. He shoved at the blanket again.

"Sam," Dean said warningly, looking up briefly and fixing the blanket once more before returning to his reading.

Bobby broke the impasse by knocking perfunctorily and then entering the room before either brother could say something.

"Oh Thank God," Dean groaned at the sight of the older man, tossing his magazine to the side. Sam was making him absolutely crazy. "Got something?"

"Yep. Got all the archival information on Turner, and a research job for ya."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Bobby, and thought a moment glancing surreptitiously at Sam. "I'll take the files. Give the research to Sam."

Bobby looked questioningly at him. 'You sure?'

Dean gave a sharp nod.

Sam's mood changed instantly, slowly levering himself up carefully on the bed. Dean just sighed, and hit the controls to raise the back of the bed. "Okay?" he asked when the level looked like to would support Sam comfortably.

Sam nodded, reaching for the table with the computer that had been at his brother's elbow where Dean had been looking into Turner earlier. Dean rolled it into place as Bobby dumped the papers onto it.

"I need you to take these accounts and plug them into the computer and see if we can come up with a central spot. These are all the sightings that I could dig up in the library archives on Archibald Turner. He was all over the area and knew the mines and timbers operations inside out. These are the places he worked and frequented. We need as solid a list as we can get, so Dean and I can check them out."

"Now?"

Dean could practically see Sam's mind click over at the thought of Dean leaving. Getting close, but nope, not quite ready for that yet.

"No, genius. Not now. You have to do the research first." Dean grinned.

Sam smiled slightly, nodded, and turned to the computer.

Bobby picked up on Dean's plan to stay immediately. "I'll meet Leary in the cafeteria. He'll bring over whatever he's got. Want me to get you something Dean?"

"Yeah. Bacon Cheeseburger and a coke. And a giant coffee." Dean settled back into his chair, the file of archive info waiting for him.

"Lots of caffeine. Got it." And with that Bobby headed out, leaving the brothers in a much more congenial silence than he'd found them.

SNSNSNSN

By late evening, Sam's state of mind had improved. He was still restless, but not nearly as unsettled as he had been. As Dean had predicted, doing something to help had steadied him somewhat. Be that as it may, Dean stayed the night at the hospital, using the resident's shower to clean up and shave when he was sure Sam was completely and deeply asleep.

He'd come back to see that Sam had apparently woke, and tried to get up. Sam was scowling and wouldn't talk to him when Dean came back, and the nurses were stern. Sam was conveniently asleep before Dean could berate him for being stupid, but apparently the nurses had done a good job of that as the wheelchair that had been by the bed was now well out of reach, and Sam was still wearing a sulky pout, even in sleep.

Dean couldn't be budged from the room after that. He'd always protect his brother from unknown enemies, but it was also his job to protect the stupid kid from himself. He was doubly glad he'd stayed when he had to wake Sam out of a couple of ambiguous nightmares. He wasn't sure Sam was even aware of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

**Chapter Five**

The next day saw Bobby, Dean and Sam talking over the results of the research. They worked all morning on putting together the salient points. Sam's list was thorough. He'd pinpointed all of the known sites of Archibald Turner's victims, and sites known to have been used by him. Interestingly enough, altogether they comprised a loose semi-circle around the area where the current victims, including Sam himself, had been found.

The discussion was intense as the three sorted and weighed each site based on it's historical significance to Turner, and it's usability by anybody today.

Leary joined them for a couple of hours; to report that they'd found nothing new. Sam reported in turn, leaving Leary impressed by the work the younger Winchester had done, and by the information Dean had come up with on Turner.

Archibald Turner had been a doctor, and a good one, that is until his family was killed by small pox. After that, he became obsessed, experimenting with different remedies, until he crossed the line and began experimenting on the locals. They'd rebelled, and he'd finally fled up into the mountains, apparently continuing his experiments.

Occasionally, victims would show up, dead or dying, and the locals would try to find him once more. Eventually, no more victims showed up, and it was assumed that he had died, and life went on.

"No body?" Bobby asked.

"Nope," Dean muttered grimly.

"Shit," was all Sam had to say.

Finally, Leary left, agreeing to meet them after lunch and to plan a physical search of the sites they all agreed were the most likely. Basically, those with structures still left standing.

SNSNSNSN

Lunch was finished, and Bobby sat back, hiding a smile at the interactions between the Winchester brothers. Dean had finished relishing his bacon cheeseburger, rubbing it in as his brother survived on clear liquids and bland hospital food. The more Sam glared, the more Dean put on a show. Then, Dean finished off Sam's bland lunch, complaining about the boring food even though he polished it off until Sam absconded with the jello.

Finally, all scraps of food demolished, they sat back to discuss the latest (non)-update from Leary, and the information they had uncovered.

"Still nothing really usable," Sam muttered, stiffly reaching out to pull the rolling table holding the laptop back into place, quickly assisted by his older brother.

Bobby was amused by the eagle eye Dean had on his younger brother. Dean wasn't going to let anything get by him again. But he had to admit; Sam still looked a wreck, and clearly needed the help although he wouldn't admit it.

"No," Dean admitted. "But I think Leary, Bobby and I should go out this afternoon to the most promising sites, as well as where we found you to see if we can see anything of a more unearthly nature." Dean watched his brother carefully to see how he would take the plan. He didn't want to smother or embarrass his brother by hovering, but he also hadn't liked the way Sam had been so clingy since he'd come round.

"In the snow?" Sam looked incredulously out at the snowy landscape. The sky was dark gray, the ground white, and everything looked cold. He thought that he could do without the cold for a very long time.

"So?" Dean shrugged, pleased that Sam didn't seem disconcerted with Dean's possible leaving. "I won't melt."

Sam scowled. He hated being locked into a bed. He had no choice. He was stuck until a nurse came with a wheelchair. After he purloined the one close to his bed the night before for an illicit trip to the bathroom to take a dump in private, they had banned it, stating that he had a catheter for a reason, and not just for staying off his feet. When he complained about the other needs, they just pointed out that that was what bedpans were for. Damn pink urine anyway.

"I'm not helpless," he snapped in frustration.

Bobby could see the smirk on Dean's face at that comment and stopped it with a look. "No, you're not. The connections you've made are great. Now we need to see how it all fits together. Maybe you can see what's happened in other parts of the country similar to this. This may be bigger than we think."

"Geek-boy to the rescue," Dean suggested.

"Not this afternoon he won't be," Janice said, entering the room with a smile.

Dean turned the charm on full wattage to the pretty nurse. Sam was somewhat less enthusiastic. As nice as she was, she could also be Nurse Attila. Even Dean would have met his match with her.

"Sam is going to take a nap. You two have kept him up all morning, and now you should leave for the afternoon," she said decisively, a smile softening her features. She liked these three. Sam reminded her of her oldest son, not much younger than he was.

Dean looked uncertain. Janice hurried to reassure him, having a pretty good idea of what worried him. "There are plain-clothes deputies posted all over, including one right outside this door," she said softly, out of Sam's hearing. "And I'll watch over him like he was my own," she added persuasively. "He'll just sleep."

"I'm not tired," Sam huffed, only able to catch just the last sentence, much to his chagrin.

Janice turned her attention back to Sam now that Dean was semi-convinced. "Maybe not, but you'll realize how tired you really are once these two clowns clear out."

"Who are you calling a clown," Dean groused good-naturedly, sliding a sideways look at his brother at the mention of his phobia, at the same time gauging his comfort level. He relaxed some at what he saw.

"You, Dean. You are kind of creepy looking," Sam said, clearly irritated, and glad to put one in the eye of his big brother.

Janice broke up the bantering with ease of long practice, without even looking up from his meal tray. "Well Sam, this is good; looks like your appetite is coming back. You cleaned your plate right up."

"Actually," Dean cleared his throat, "That was me. Sam drank the juice, ate the jello, part of the applesauce, and a couple bites of the toast."

Sam glowered at him. He was sick enough of the nurses monitoring everything he ate, and everything that came out. Some things really should be within a guy's right to privacy! But no, Dean was telling everything. She'd be all over him at dinner, practically force-feeding him, he knew from experience.

"Huh. Well, thanks for telling me Dean," Janice said with a raised eyebrow in Sam's direction, letting him know that he wasn't getting away with a thing. "Although I'd rather Sam ate it. And you know we monitor his tray," she finished pointedly.

Dean gave her a full dose of his charm once again. "Can't let it go to waste. Think of the starving kids in China."

She laughed again as Sam muttered, "Like you've ever met one."

"He does need a nap. He gets like this when he's tired." Dean confided to Janice, feeling better about leaving. Sam was just acting like a pissy, pain in the ass little brother - no more, no less.

"DEAN!" Sam made his feelings known. His outrage was palpable.

Janice laughed again as Bobby whacked Dean on the back of the head as she moved the computer away from Sam to the other side of the room despite his attempts to retain it. Competently she lowered the head of his bed, and absconded with the TV remote.

"You two," she stabbed a finger in their direction, "Leave. You may come back at dinner time. Not before. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," came the dutiful replies as she shoed them out the door.

Sam made the universal motion of 'call me' pleadingly at Dean. Dean just smirked and turned to the nurse. "Oh, and Janice, you might want to confiscate his phone too."

"I hate you," Sam muttered.

Dean just laughed and waved a hand before the door closed on him. He and Bobby could leave, knowing Sam was safe and the deputies safely on guard outside his room and throughout the hospital. Leary had promised and Dean trusted him.

"Now Sam, what part of 'nap' didn't you understand?" She grinned at him as she found the phone in the blankets of the bed.

Sam shifted restlessly as she put the phone on the computer table far, far across the room. It may as well have been in Asia for him. He couldn't even set a foot on the ground.

Janice smoothed the blankets down and tucked them in, checking the side rails and the various equipment attached to him. "Do you need anything?" She asked cheerfully.

"A wheelchair?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope, sorry, but you lost those particular privileges last night," she smiled. "You'll feel better after a good sleep." Patting his shoulder, she turned out the lights and left Sam in the semi darkness of the gray afternoon.

All in all, Sam hated feeling helpless, and right now, he couldn't have been more so. Though truth be told, he felt absolutely lousy. He hated that he couldn't leave his bed, he hated hurting, and he really, really hated having his brother hunting alone. Whether supernatural or man, he needed to be watching his back. Thank heavens Bobby was with him, that was one relief. Now if he could be out of the bed watching Dean's back himself as well, that would be perfect.

Sam shifted as he looked out at the leaden sky, trying to ease the discomfort in his back. Between the bruising on his torso and back, and the bruised kidneys, all he seemed to feel was one nauseating ache.

The snow began to fall in tiny flakes, telling him how cold it really was outside. At least he was warm. Geez, he'd thought he'd never be warm again. All he remembered was the cold. And being afraid. But he was warm and safe now, he reassured himself drowsily. The dim room, the gray sky and the warmth all conspired against him and he drifted off.

SNSNSNSN

Janice exited the room, a slight smile on her face. Men, just big boys. Especially those Sam's age – adult in age, but not yet completely. She wasn't all that surprised to see Dean loitering anxiously outside, just down from the room, Bobby waiting patiently. She closed the door quietly, but firmly, and waited until she was down the hall to address him. She had left Sam settled and she would like to make sure he stayed that way.

"Yes, Dean?" She asked, a knowing smile on her face as she met Bobby's wry gaze.

Dean had the grace to flush slightly. "Um, Sammy's been having nightmares. Just thought you should know. He'll do all he can to keep from sleeping."

Janice's smile grew bigger. "I'm aware of that Dean. Part of it's the medication." She raised her hand to cut him off as he made to break in. "I know, the rest is the trauma. And," she continued thoughtfully, "I think he's probably been subject to night-terrors on a regular basis. Am I right?"

Dean relaxed palpably and nodded.

"I thought so. We've all been keeping an eye on him. And if I need too, I'll take to dosing his food." She grinned outright at the look on Dean's face. "No, I didn't today. You won't be taking an unintentional nap."

Bobby's outright laughed had Dean looking chagrined.

"Yet another reason to stay out of his food," Bobby razed the younger man, a finger in his chest.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered before turning serious. "Thanks Janice."

"No problem. Go on. Get out of here. If you wait until dinner to come back I'll even make sure there's something on Sam's tray for you."

Dean's face lit up, making Janice think once again about her own sons – and her earlier thought about men being just big boys. She read his enthusiasm right though his obligatory eye-rolling and disparaging "hospital crap food, oh, boy, I'm thrilled" comment.

Bobby's whack on the back of his head smartened him right up, as older man shook his head and commented, "I'm sorry, Janice. Manners just never seemed to take with this one."

Dean glared at Bobby, rubbing the back of his head, and then looked back at the nurse. "Ah, Janice? One more thing ...?"

She shook her head, laughing. "What now, Dean?"

"Once Sam is asleep, could you put his phone back within his reach? I, ah, really don't want him to wake up and not be able to get hold of me," Dean finished gamely, flushing a little and rubbing the back of his head again, this time in a nervous, uncomfortable gesture. It was a toss up as to whether Sam would call him a girl, or just smile his thanks were he listening to this. Probably both.

Janice just melted inside. If her sons were ever this close and caring of each other she'd die a happy woman. "No problem," she said, with a knowing smile. Her smile got bigger as Dean grew pinker. "Now go on, get out of here." She parted ways, laughing as she heard Dean's grumbling as he tried to regain his macho exterior. She knew better.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Thanks for all the reviews. They are much appreciated! Sorry for the short chapter, but it's a transition of sorts, and it's just the way the action broke.**

Dean and Bobby headed out to begin the search. Once in the car, they contacted Leary, then picked him up. They decided to begin at the farthest spot on the map Sam had plotted, and planned to gradually work their way in closer to town. They figured that this was just going to be a fact finding mission. If they were lucky, they might find another scrap of information.

The next few hours were spent painstakingly scouring the places on the map. One by one, they came up empty. And with each successive disappointment Dean's desperation grew.

SNSNSNSN

Sam blinked, and drew in a deep breath. He woke up a bit more when just breathing that deeply hurt. Glancing out the window, he realized absently that the afternoon had worn on, and that Dean wasn't in the room. He wasn't awake enough for that thought to alarm him, especially since he remembered vaguely talking to Dean on the phone at some point earlier. He wasn't sure how that could be but he decided it was too much work to worry about it right now.

The small dream catcher peeking out from its place mostly hidden by the drapes caught his attention and made him smile. The warmth of that piece of his brother's protection, and the physical warmth of being tucked into a warm bed on a cold afternoon lulled him back into a deep sleep.

SNSNSNSN

"Dammit!" Dean snarled in frustration, making Leary jump nervously. Bobby just ignored him. "Another dead end."

They had just located another one of the remote places Sam had pinpointed on the map. It's hadn't been easy to get to, involving a trek through old logging roads, and finally a hike when the road had become impassable. Dean was beginning to worry about the suspension in his car. He was going to have to take a good look at it when this was all finished.

And as the afternoon rolled on, each one had been a successively increasing disappointment. And Dean had become successively jumpier, worrying about Sam. He'd reach for his phone, then put it down. He'd finally called about halfway through the afternoon, getting a short, sleepy, grumpy, "What?"

Dean had been slightly off guard at the response. He'd gotten too used to the needy Sam of the last few days, and flushed slightly. The nurse had been right. Sam just needed some sleep this afternoon. His mind raced frantically to try and maintain the upper hand.

"Just checking to see if you needed anything. Thought you called earlier."

"Dean. I've been" (pause for a huge yawn) "sleeping."

"Okay." Dean paused, racking his brain for some way not to appear like he'd been hovering, or worried, or . . . whatever. "Like I said, I thought you called and I missed it." Right. Like Sam would fall for that.

"Nope." Sam yawned again.

Perfect. Sam wasn't awake enough to realize just how lame Dean was being. He probably wouldn't even remember this. "Go back to sleep, Sam."

"'Kay." A fumble, making Dean grin, then the phone disconnected.

He looked up to see Bobby staring at him, eyebrows raised.

"Just making sure Janice left his phone in reach," Dean lied valiantly.

From the look on Bobby's face, he didn't buy it, but to Dean's relief, he let it be.

But now, it was late afternoon, and Dean was pissed. He wanted to get back to the hospital and all they came up with was dead ends. Abandoned dusty shacks, echoing mine entrances sealed off by cave ins, and desolate locations.

This location was no different. A decaying cabin backed up against a steep hillside. The place was falling down and clearly hadn't been touched in years. And it had been a bitch to get to. He hated hiking. Nature sucked. And so did Turner and whoever or whatever was working with him. If they, okay, it, or if it was an it. Whatever. He slammed a fist into the nearest wall in a sudden fit of temper, and froze as it sounded hollow.

All three men looked at each other, stunned. The wall Dean had struck was the wall flush against the side of the mountain. No way it could sound hollow. Without a word, they tore at the wall in the slowly failing light.

It didn't take much, and they broke through with shocking suddenness. Carefully, they made their way into the cave concealed behind the wall. Flashlights turned on as they stepped forward to see what was at the end of the chamber. Lights bounced off crumbling rock at the end of the shallow cavern, uncovering semi-concealed passage way.

No words were necessary as each man was on his guard. They carefully stepped from the original chamber into the partially hidden blackness. The dim light of their flashlights lit just enough to see into the murk. And they stopped cold at the horror in front of them.

SNSNSNSN

Sam woke up grumpy. He was cold. Cold enough to wake him up. From the dimness of the light filtering through the window, he could tell it was getting on to very late afternoon. He just wanted to get another blanket and go back to sleep. He was really sick of being cold.

But the edges of the window were covered with frost, creeping along noticeably towards the center, making him shiver. The mist of his breath in front of his face woke him further, the growing iciness in the room contributing as well.

He came to full consciousness, just as the figure materialized next to his bed, its visage nightmarishly frightening and familiar.


	7. Chapter 7

The Dying of the Light

**The Dying of the Light**

By Spense

**2008**

**PART TWO**

Please note, I don't swear. But Dean does. A lot. Especially when he's under stress. So forgive him, and watch out for his bad language in the next couple chapters as he was very insistent on what he said. I wish I could put a little skull icon in instead of a bad word like they did on 'Ghostfacers', but alas, I have no icon, so unfortunately you get the swearing instead. Also, dark themes and images ahead - much more so than I usually write - but the boys inhabit a world that isn't all that nice. You've been properly warned.

**Chapter Seven**

"_Do not go gentle into that good night,_

_Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_Though wise men at their end know that dark is right_

_Because their words had forked no lightning they_

_Do not go gentle into that good night."_

_ Dylan Thomas_

"Well, Shit!" Dean stated emphatically. There really wasn't much else to say. What they could see of the dim room was enough to turn their stomachs. An ancient examination table was the first thing to appear in the deep darkness, looming in the shadows. It was rusty and coated with old, dark, stains and some newer stains that didn't bear thinking about, it's thick leather straps hardened with sweat and age. The sight was horrifying.

"Dear Lord," Leary muttered.

"I think we've found the place," Bobby said quietly.

"Uh, yeah," Dean agreed, his sarcasm falling flat as he moved further into the blackness of the chamber. From the echoing of his footfalls, it was clear it was a large space.

SNSNSNSN

Sam was wide awake. He really wished he weren't. He desperately waited to be shaken out of this nightmare by his brother, just as Dean had done so many times during this hospital stay, and countless time prior. He'd even put up with being called Samantha, or Sammy. Anything but this.

The ghost was translucent, almost unfinished. The old fashioned clothes were tattered, and covered with a stained apron. The heavily bearded face regarded him for a moment, then smiled coldly.

"Remember me?"

The voice resonated deep within Sam's mind as the figure in front on him stuttered like an old movie, and jerked closer towards him.

All Sam could feel was terror, deep and primal, and his instinct towards self preservation kicked in, breaking his horrified trance. He flung himself back away from the image closing in on him, and hit the side rails of the bed, hard. Gasping in the sudden pain as his battered and hypersensitive nerve endings protested, he fought his way down to the foot of the bed, away from the ghost, all while keeping eye contact with the grinning apparition in front of him. It appeared to be enjoying his panic.

Sam found the gap between the bedrail and the footboard of his bed, and tumbled off backwards, landing hard on his tailbone, followed almost immediately with a collision between his badly bruised back and the cold, hard floor. The back of his skull lastly connected as well, with an echoing thump. His head swam and he gasped for breath, terror and the need to survive keeping him going, hand in hand.

Flashes of a dark cave, and the specter in front of him flashed in his mind; voices, the ghost directing a man in wielding a knife and mixing herbs. Sam pushed the flashes back and concentrated on surviving.

The noise of machines blaring made him realize that he had pulled free from the IVs, and the other tubes and wires that had been hooked up to him. He winced reflectively as he sat up. Having all that ripped off and away from him was going to hurt in more places than he wanted to think about - once he had the time to feel the pain that is. He looked up from his bloody arm where two IV needles hadn't simply slid out, but rather ripped through the tape and his skin from the violence of his reaction. A low, resonant laugh echoed through his mind, catching his attention again, and making his head ache that much more.

"We set you free too early, little one. You weren't properly ready. I won't make that mistake again. I need to finish what I started."

Sam was used to facing such horrors. He'd faced down far worse. But not when he was completely incapacitated, unable to walk, and alone. His fear escalated into panic as he used his arms to propel himself backwards across the floor, away from the phantom. His left wrist, weak from the sprain, slid on the slick blood he was leaking from God knew where, sending him flat on his back once again. He struggled up again to the sound of running feet in the hall outside his room.

The ghost looked up, distracted from his fixation on Sam, and stared at the door. Just before the sound of feet arrived in response to the call of the alarms, the door slammed shut. The solid sound echoed Sam's desperation.

The ghost looked at him again - and smiled.

Still trying to heave himself backwards, Sam did what he'd done all his life when he was in trouble. He called for help from the one place it would always come.

"DEEAAAANNNNNN!"

SNSNSNSNSN

Dean dropped his duffle bag, and poked around the exam table, noting it was bolted to the floor. He knelt down, forced the swirling emotions away from his mind as best he could, and rubbed some herbs between his fingers. He looked up, sidetracked, when a faint light lit up the area. He straightened up to see Leary with what appeared to be an old oil lamp, still in working order.

"It's full," the Sergeant commented quietly, as he turned back to set it on the now visible workbench. Dean's gaze followed Leary's movements and he caught a glimpse of the contents of the bench. He turned away, swallowing hard. He wasn't normally squeamish, but the thought of his little brother as a subject in this hellish place was not comforting. Especially when it was because of his carousing that Sam had been alone and had been taken. And that was a thought best dealt with later.

"SHIT! Dean, get over here! NOW!" Bobby's frantic voice pulled both men over to him in another, far, shadowy corner of the large cavern. His rifle was trained unerringly on a figure sitting in the shadows of the corner.

As Dean reached Bobby's side, he took in the skeletal figure in stained apron, sitting on a stool and leaning back against the cold, stone wall. But this man was only in his 30s. And he was clearly alive, although obviously not for long. His sunken eyes gazed at them, glazed over and dull. He coughed, choking up blood, seemingly not perturbed at Bobby's rifle, trained steadily on him. From the tools, and scrawled notes on the bench next to him, it was apparent that he was not a victim.

Dean took in the scene in less than half a second. "You son-of-a-bitch," he snarled, and lunged for the man, only to be held back by Leary.

"Easy, Dean," he muttered as he deftly manhandled an incensed Dean back.

The sound of a grating voice made Dean freeze.

"You're too late," the man said, looking slowly up at them. "He's gone back for him." He coughed again. "He said we didn't finish. Didn't get it right."

"Didn't get what right you mother-. .. " Dean was cut off by Leary, easing him back.

"Didn't finish what?" Leary asked softly.

The man, who had ignored Dean completely, looked at Leary, his eyes drifting slowly towards the Sergeant's face. "The mix. He said we didn't do it right on the last one. He didn't feel the light go out."

"Who said that?" Dean said, his voice rough with the effort of holding back his temper.

"Turner. He taught me, you know."

"Ah, shit," Bobby muttered. "Dean, he could have gone for . . ."

"I know," Dean broke him off grimly. "Where?" He asked, casting his gaze around.

Leary looked puzzled. "What are you . . ."

"Never mind," Dean broke off, eyes darting quickly around the cave. "Help me look. We have to find Turner's body."

"You won't find it. He's not dead. He's just sleeping." The man nodded heavily towards another shadowed area of the cave. "He can't die. He says he has too much work to do to leave. He's not ready."

"We'll see about that," Dean snarled dragging out a box of salt from his weapons bag as he headed for the corner Leary now had brightly illuminated with both flashlight and oil lamp.

Dean barely had time to see the skeletal remains covered with rags on the decaying camp cot before he was dumping salt over it. He followed that up with the oil from another lamp next to the cot. Lighting a match he grimly dropped it on the remains, and watched in satisfaction as the whole thing went up with a satisfying whump.

"Rot in Hell, you bastard," Dean muttered. "This will teach you to mess with my brother."

SNSNSNSN

Sam had managed to back himself up against the jam of the open doorway to his bathroom, looking around frantically for anything to use against the spirit in front of him. No salt, no iron, no nothing. He could see salt on the table across the room, but without being able to stand and run, it may as well have been the other side of the state for all the good it did him.

"I'll get to finish now what I started," the deep voice reverberated.

Sam could feel the vibrations in his aching head as the ghost stuttered towards him, like a bad piece of film. He had a sinking feeling that this would be it. He was trapped, and there wasn't anything he could do to save himself. He raised his hands instinctively to protect his face, knowing all the while it was futile.

Just as Turner reached for him, the cold freezing his skin and raising goose bumps, a bright flash built, and the ghost ignited from within. A second later and a burst of flame, it was gone, just like that.

SNSNSNSN

Dean looked in satisfaction as the flames built to a frenzy, then quickly died as the fuel burned out.

"Is that it?" Leary asked, clearly unnerved.

"Should be," Dean muttered tuning and meeting the Sergeant's eye as he fished for his phone. "Shit," he muttered again, seeing his phone needed to be charged. He hadn't realized he'd let it get down that low, and that last call to Sam had drained it. One more piece of guilt to add to the growing mound. "Hey Bobby, I need your phone to call Sam, mine's dead."

Bobby didn't turn around, rifle still trained unerringly on the man in the corner. His other hand fished out his phone from his pocket and tossed it blindly in Dean's direction.

Dean grabbed it out of midair and immediately began dialing.

"I need to call the office," Leary said, sounding dazed. "We need to arrest this guy."

"I'll buy that," Bobby muttered.

"What's your name," Leary asked, getting back into his comfort zone as he faced the dying man.

"No need for that," the man wheezed.

Dean turned suspiciously, listening with one ear while the phone rang.

"I'll finish what Turner didn't."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

The man just smiled - a macabre expression on his sunken face, and his eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone.

"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed, diving to see if he could find a pulse.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled as a black cloud appeared behind him, slowly coalescing into a vaguely human form. "Behind you!"

Bobby spun around and all three men looked at the figure as it began to laugh. The voice was the same, but stronger.

"I can't go yet. I'll finish what we began," it intoned, and began to fade.

"Dean, grab the lamp oil!" Bobby yelled, diving for the salt.

"Shit. I hate burning fresh ones," Dean moaned, dropping the phone which had gone to voicemail, as he dove for the salt, and prayed that Sam was safe.

SNSNSNSN

Sam slowly lowered his hands, his eyes wide, gradually taking in that the ghost was indeed gone.

"Thank you, big brother," he said softly, eyes moving around the room, making sure it was indeed empty. He didn't know how Dean did it, but he had. Just like always.

Sam laid his head back against the door jam, and closed his eyes in sheer exhaustion. The blaring of the alarms from the machines near his bed, and the pounding on the door and the shouting of his name were just background noises. He was just grateful to be alive.

The click of the door unlocking made him sigh in relief. He hurt, and he just wanted to go back to bed and sleep for the next ten hours, and wake only to make sure Dean was okay.

The slamming of the door again made him open his eyes, as did the picking up of the wind. _'Wind? In a closed room? What the . . .'_

Sam opened his eyes just in time to see loose papers begin to move on their own around the room, as though a tornado was brewing. As his skin began to prickle and the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, a black cloud slowly coalesced into a human form in the center of the room. The wind picked up, and all Sam could think of was _'not again_!'.

Then, as the smile began to grow in the black, cloudy shape of a face, there was a flash of light and the windows blew out, sending glass and furniture and medical equipment flying around the room. Sam ducked and tried to hunker down as best he could, then knew no more.


	8. Chapter 8

The Dying of the Light

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

**Chapter Eight**

As soon as the body was incinerated, Dean turned and bolted for the entrance of the cave. Bobby grabbed his arm, and stopping him. Dean whirled, furious.

"Let me go! I've got to get to Sam!"

"I know! We're on our way. But hold on just a second." Bobby held fast to an irate Dean and turned to Leary. "Can you handle the situation?"

Leary looked grimly around the cavern. It was clear that there was clothing, shoes, jewelry, and even wallets from victims strewn about, in various stages of decay. "Yeah, I can. We'll need to sort through this and get forensics on it. Go. I'll take care of it. I'll catch a ride with one of the units."

Dean nodded. "Great. Come on Bobby, let go. Now!"

Bobby just followed as close as he could as Dean took off through the woods for the car.

SNSNSNSN

The call from the hospital came in on Bobby's phone, as Dean's was dead. Bobby just listened, asked a couple of questions, then hung up.

Dean had been driving down the highway at warp speed, turning his eyes from the road to try to read Bobby's expression. "Well?!" he demanded.

"They wouldn't tell me anything," Bobby commented. "Just told us to get there. All they said was that somebody had gotten into Sam's room, then gotten away, and they were examining Sam now."

"Shit," Dean said again, and floored the car again.

Bobby didn't have the heart to reprimand Dean for his language, he felt the same way.

SNSNSNSN

For Sam, it was the return of a nightmare. He came to fighting - again. He could feel his fists connect, hear the cacophony of voices, and it frightened him. He hurt, he felt nauseous, and the only voice he wanted to hear was nowhere to be found.

Wrenching open his eyes, he lashed out again with his good arm, and felt the solid connection against flesh.

"Sam, Sam!" Hands on his face turned his gaze towards the voice. His nurse, Janice, was trying to get his attention.

"Sam, I need you to calm down," Janice said firmly, making eye contact with him.

Sam stopped striking out, instead began to try to peel himself up off the floor. "Dean. Where's Dean?" The ghosts were gone, Dean and Bobby had to have taken care of them, but were they okay? He had to know.

"Keep him down," a voice called, and Sam was being restrained again. "Don't let him move."

Kneeling beside him on the floor, Janice kept hold of both sides of his face, gently but firmly. "Sam, don't move. You're safe now. It's okay, honey, you're safe. The man in your room is gone. We've called your uncle. He and Dean are on their way. Stay still. We need to evaluate how much you've been hurt."

"No, I need to see Dean," Sam insisted, his voice hard and emphatic. The doctor's and nurses had him pinned down flat now, and his struggles to free himself were frustratingly ineffective.

"He's coming, Sweetie, he's on his way, we've called him," Janice soothed, holding eye contact, trying to calm him down. She turned her head briefly, not taking her eyes off Sam, and said over her shoulder, "Andy, get a blanket. He's freezing," then turned her attention right back to Sam.

"Now, where are you hurt, Sam," Janice asked, forcing his attention onto her, "I need to know where you're hurt."

Sam's head swam, and he felt the nausea rising. "No, Dean, I need Dean" he said again, less strongly, before his body took over, and he began gagging. Hands rolled him over onto his side and he convulsed with the pain of his rebelling stomach.

Retching made everything hurt all that much more, and the vomiting just never seemed to stop. He was crying from the pain, and trying to curl up to ease the fire in his belly, but nobody would let him, and the voices were so loud, and he just wanted Dean . . .

"Easy, Sammy, easy, just breathe." The voice and the familiar touch on his shoulder were a balm to his soul. The strange hands restraining him let go at last, and he was finally able to curl up, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach. Wrenching open his eyes, he looked dully up at his brother.

Dean smiled gently as he tucked the blanket closer around his miserable brother's shoulders. "You're okay, Sammy. It's over, it's all over. I'm right here. You're alright." All Sam's tired mind could do was take in the fact that his brother here, and he was safe.

"Hey, Sammy, how about we let Janice and the doc take a look at you, okay?" Dean's voice held the tone of comfort he remembered from his childhood; from when he'd been ill, or hurt. Some kids had a mom, he had Dean. It was the same thing a lot of the time.

"What about that, huh?" Dean's voice continued to prattle on soothingly. "Find out how much more banged up you managed to get yourself? It's not a contest, little brother. You really didn't have to go and up the ante."

Funny, it sounded like Dean's voice was coming from way, far away. But that was okay, he was safe, his brother was safe, and he knew that Dean would have his back. And with that assurance, he let himself fade out.

SNSNSNSN

"Dean! Sit! Right here, right now." Bobby pointed to couch outside the Nurse's Station, face hard. As soon as Sam had passed out, both had been escorted out of the room by hard-faced security so the medical staff could do their job. Considering that Dean had done some major damage to other said security members in his rocket flight from the car to Sam's room, and ripped everybody who been holding Sam still away by brute force, it wasn't surprising that they had twitchy fists.

Dean's eyes narrowed at him, then shot back to the wrecked doorway that was Sam's room, measuring.

"Do. Not. Even. Think. It." Bobby ground out. "Sit down right now before they rightly throw you out for makin' a scene. They're damn close to doing just that."

The face off continued, as Dean's granite countenance glared right back, un-intimidated. When Sam was on the line, Dean could stare down anybody. But Bobby didn't even flinch, just pointed once again to the chair.

A pregnant moment passed, then Dean moved to the couch, and perched on the edge, the dangerous edge to him diminishing only slightly.

"I will find out what's happening," Bobby's tone moderated, "And I will be right back. You don't move so much as a muscle. They are this close to having security escort you out, and where will Sam be then?"

The dangerous edge melted off just a bit more, and disappeared altogether as Dean looked up, desperate. "Yes, Sir."

Bobby gave a half smile, "I'll be right back," and turned.

"Bobby . . ." Dean's one word laid bare to anyone who knew him the frustration and complete fear that was mixing up inside him.

"He'll be okay, Dean. He knows your here. And he'll be a lot better with you next to him, so don't get yourself ejected again. Got it?"

This time Dean just gave a weary nod and fixed his eyes on Sam's door.

Bobby rubbed his face ruefully as he approached the Nurse's station. The desk nurse who had been looking at Dean fearfully, with her finger hovering above the security button, looked hesitantly at Bobby.

He smiled reassuringly. "I think we're okay here. Sam is all Dean has and it's been rough."

She heaved a sigh, and relaxed slightly, although she didn't take her eyes off the handsome man perched on the edge of the chair, rubbing his eyes. "I suppose." She didn't sound convinced.

Bobby smiled reassuringly once more. "Would you mind checking on Sam for me? It would make both Dean and I feel better. He scared the Sh . . . ah, crap out of both of us."

She smiled, relaxed now, and enjoying the old fashioned courtesy. "I'll see what I can do," she said conspiratorially. "Give me a second."

"Thanks," Bobby said, a weight of gratitude in the word. He patted the high counter and stepped back to Dean, who looked up, need in his eyes.

"She's checking right now."

"God," Dean groaned again, burying his face in his hands again. "I so do not want to go through that again," he said heavily.

"You and me both, kid, you an me both." Bobby said as he sat next to Dean. Waiting was a real bitch. Especially when he had to contain a scared Dean. Dean's first reaction to fear was to shoot something. He hoped this would go quick.

His wish seemed to be granted. "Mr. Singer?" The nurse at the front caught his eye.

Dean started to move as he got up, but Bobby pinned him back down with a hand on his shoulder and a look. It was a measure of Dean's exhaustion and adrenaline crash that he stayed.

The nurse smiled conspiratorially. "You didn't hear this from me, but Sam should be fine. They're going to take him up for some x-rays and other tests, and then admit him to the ICU as a precaution. They think he may have mild concussion, and he's exhausted, but he should have no real aftereffects aside from being set back a few days. The doctor will be out to talk to you, but I just caught the end of the conversation on the phone as he had me wait."

Bobby closed his eyes in relief. "Thank you."

She just smiled and jutted with her chin back to the chairs, indicating that he should sit down again.

Dean looked worried, then relaxed as Bobby gave him a little smile and headed back. He just nodded slightly to Dean, and Dean flopped back, relieved, giving Bobby the biggest grin he'd seen from either one of the Winchesters this time out.

By the time Dr. Howard came out, both Bobby and Dean were spent, limp and waiting. He smiled at both men as they got clumsily to their feet.

"He's fine. Mild concussion and he added to the assortment of bruises on his back as well as bruising his tailbone. Other than that he just banged himself up pretty good. He added a few more cuts and bruises to his collection, and set his recovery back a bit, but other than that, no additional damage. He came to again when I was examining him, and he was relatively coherent and able to tell me where he hurt, so that's a good sign."

Dean stiffened at the news that Sam had come around and he hadn't been there, but Dr. Howard could read him easily by now. He smiled and added his reassurance to Dean, knowing what he'd need to hear.

"I reminded Sam that you were here and would be with him when he was settled back in bed. He understood and managed to stay calm, and faded out again pretty quickly after that. He's going to be in and out for awhile."

Dean relaxed palpably at the news, then asked, concerned, "What about his feet?"

"No problems. From what little he was able to tell me, he went backwards out of bed trying to get away. I was glad to get that much coherency from him right now, frankly," the doctor smiled. "Anyway, he didn't put any weight on them, so they fared better than the rest of him. We'll keep him in ICU until we're sure there won't be any aftereffects from the concussion, then move him back down."

He saw Dean draw in a breath to speak, but beat him too it. "And yes, you can stay with him. Like I told Sam, you'll be with him as soon as he's put back to bed. They're finishing up with the tests as we speak, so you should head up in a couple of minutes."

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said heartfelt, with Bobby echoing the sentiment.

They both looked at each other for a moment as the doctor left.

"Close call," Bobby commented finally.

"I'll say," Dean muttered, at lose for any type of sarcasm, as he contemplated how close it had been. Too many 'what ifs' in this whole thing. He swallowed hard. Now that is was over, he had time to think about the fact that he'd left his brother alone the night he was taken, and why. But he was afraid to face it. It would drown him.

"This isn't your fault, Dean." Bobby was looking at him seriously, seemingly reading his thoughts.

Dean met his eyes, too raw to dissemble. "Of course it is. All I did was fight with him, rip him to shreds either arguing with him or shutting him out, and then leave him alone to get taken."

"This isn't your fault," Bobby repeated. "Sam understands. He told me."

Dean looked up, naked shock on his face. "When?!" he demanded.

Bobby smiled. "Before you left my house. Again yesterday when you'd gone out of the room. He's as worried that you'll blame yourself, as you are about him."

Dean scowled at the floor. "But it is my fault, Bobby."

Bobby broke him off. "Bull, Dean. If you can't blow up and take your grief out on your family, who can you? Sam said as much to me. He's just absorbed it, and let it go. He_ understands_, Dean, and he doesn't blame you," Bobby finished emphatically. "But he's really worried that you blame yourself."

"Well, I blame myself," Dean admitted quietly, guilt naked on his face. Guilt for leaving Sam alone, guilt that Sam had had to talk to Bobby because he kept blocking him out over the last months. "Dad said it was my job to protect him."

"And you have. But Sam's an adult now. He's prepared to take care of himself and he can."

That about tore Dean apart again. If he didn't have Sam to take care of, then what did he have left?

"He can take care of himself because of you," Bobby emphasized. "Because you've prepared him. AND because you have his back. He'll always need you. And because he's strong, he can help you, too."

Dean let that wash over him. He wasn't prepared to give up the guilt, and knew he never would, but Bobby's words did take the edge off.

"I don't know if I'm completely buying the load of crap you're selling, but I'll think about it," Dean finally comment quietly.

Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder, knowing he make at least a little headway. That was all he could do. "That's all I ask. I'll call Leary, and meet you upstairs."

Dean just nodded, feeling raw, and headed for his brother. The nurse on duty was familiar, and admitted him into the ICU unit with a smile. Dean returned the greeting absently, looking across the big room for his brother. He finally spotted him, in the same bay he'd been in the last time, curtains partially pulled.

Making his was over, ignoring the activity around him as the nurses moved around the other critically ill patients, he dropped in the chair already positioned beside the bed, and gazed pensively at his little brother.

Sam was positioned on his side, propped up with pillows, and hooked back up to the many tubes and monitors that had been clustered around him, with the addition of an oxygen canula this time around. He hated seeing Sam like this; it always made him feel like a failure. But at least the kid looked relatively comfortable for the moment, and . . . he was alive. Dean would take that any day.

It was over but for the recovery. And he'd be here to take care of Sam this time. Not push him away like he had the last few months. He dropped his head back and let himself relax for the first time in a long time, and absorbed Bobby's words a little more.

SNSNSNSN

Sam halfway woke up several times, either from nightmares, or just surfacing, but never enough to really realize where he was. All he knew was he heard Dean's voice telling him it was okay, and to go back to sleep. As soon as he heard that he was out again.

When he finally pried open his eyes to true wakefulness, he felt disoriented. He was lying on his side and the view was wrong. This wasn't his room. He blinked as he tried to clear his head, but nothing felt right.

"Welcome back, Sammy," Dean said, just out of visual range.

"It's Sam," he muttered and tried to move his head to see his brother. A flash of pain shot through his head, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Not good. SO not good.

Dean grinned at Sam's reply. His brother's normal response to being called 'Sammy' relieved him more about Sam's mental state than anything else could have. He felt like a weight was lifted of his chest. Maybe he hadn't completely failed his little brother.

He shifted into Sam's line of vision so his brother wouldn't have to move, dragging his chair with him It scrapping along the ground until he had it positioned in front of Sam, and dropped back into it.

Sam moaned. "Quiet, Dean, please. Keep it down."

"Kind of like a hangover?" Dean asked, inordinately cheerful. He felt like he had a stupid grin pasted on his face, but he didn't really care. Sammy was fine. Well, would be fine, and Dean couldn't resist ribbing him a little.

"I know, I know, you've had enough concussions and hangovers to be able to tell the difference. But I agree, both suck," he finished helpfully.

"Shut up, Dean. You're way too cheerful for this early in the morning," he moaned.

"Late afternoon," Dean supplied obligingly. "You've slept the better part of 24 hours."

"You're kidding," Sam stated flatly, eyes widening.

"Nope." Dean looked up at him again, grinning. "And the nurses up here are FINE. And you missed it all. Well, actually maybe not. You just weren't awake enough to appreciate their hands when . . ."

"Dean!" Sam did his best to talk over his brother before he found out way more information the nursing care he'd received while he was asleep than he wanted to know. He was the one in the bed, not Dean, and he'd just as soon remain ignorant.

"No, dude, seriously . . ." Dean began animatedly.

"DEAN! Shut up!" Sam flushed, pushing away some really humiliating memories of some of the care he'd received while he was awake. He _really_ hated hospitals. Trust Dean to bring it up. He ignored his brother's knowing smirk, and flushing deeper, changed the subject. "Where am I?"

"ICU."

Dean smirked as Sam groaned again, this time having nothing to do with pain. "Don't look at me, Dude, I didn't put you here. You're the one with the concussion."

Sam tried carefully to stretch, and stopped cold as a bolt of pain shot down his lower spine and back. "Oh, man. . . " he breathed.

"And a bruised lower back and tailbone," Dean supplied helpfully. "Goes great with the bruised kidneys and bum hip."

Sam glared at him. No wonder he was lying on his side. This was really going to suck big time.

"Hey, don't glare at me. I wasn't the one who fell backwards out of bed," Dean pointed out, smirking.

"I hate you," Sam muttered.

Dean just laughed and picked up a magazine. "It's a nice match with the screwed up wrist and shoulder, and the hamburger feet, too."

"Bite me," Sam muttered, then realized what he said.

Dean burst into laughter, earning a glare from the nurse across the room. He lowered his voice. "No, Sam, don't think so. You're not my type. Now Lindsey Lohan, maybe . . ."

Sam gave a martyred sigh, and closed his eyes just to escape his brother. Maybe he could sleep to escape it all. Dean, the ICU . . . He detested hospitals. Privacy, and a bit of peace and quiet were hard to come by at the best of times in a hospital, but the ICU was the absolute worst. Maybe he could just sleep until they moved him . . .

Dean glanced up a few moments later to see his brother was out like a light. Grinning, he returned his attention to his magazine. They were going to be okay. John's death was still a deep, abiding ache, but nearly losing Sam put things into prospective. Having the time to think things through while Sam slept had helped too Being there to wake his little brother out of nightmares, and Sam's immediate calming at his voice had helped as well. Sam still needed him, and trusted him. He felt lighter than he'd felt in a long time. He'd always grieve for his father, but with his brother by him, it just might be bearable.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Dying of the Light**

**By Spense**

**2008**

**Chapter Nine**

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he tried to read. He was back in a regular room and was counting the days until discharge. That didn't mean that his bruised back and tailbone didn't make sitting for long periods uncomfortable. And his feet ached, not to mention his kidneys, as well as everything else. But he was quietly trying to cut back on the pain medication in hopes that they would discharge him sooner than the planned end of the week, which was too far away in his mind. But he was running a fine line trying to do it between Dean and the nursing staff. He wasn't sure who was worse about it.

As if he'd conjured him up, Dean chose that moment to walk through the door to his room. As he looked up to say hello, Dean's mouth tightened.

"Dammit, Sam!" Then he turned and was gone.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the now empty doorway. Sometimes his brother just baffled him.

Moments later, Dean reappeared, this time with Janice in tow. He marched over to Sam's bedside, stepped aside so Janice had room, and crossed his arms, looking stern. Janice just smiled as she held out a small container of pills and a cup of water.

Sam looked at the pills, and then glared at his brother. "Dean!" The outrage in his voice was palpable.

"Hey, don't look at me. You're hurting, and you've been avoiding the pain pills. Now take 'em," he said sternly.

Sam's mouth tightened. "No."

"Sam," Janice said with an amused smile, "It's either the pills, or I'll give you a shot. I'm sure your brother wouldn't mind helping hold you still."

"Damn straight," said brother muttered.

Sam was furious. Nurse Attila would do it too, he knew. As a matter of fact, she had done it before when he'd called her bluff and flat out refused the pain pills. So, no way. He'd had enough of feeling like a pin cushion.

"Fine," he snarled, taking the proffered offerings from Janice and knocking them back. "Happy now?" he groused.

"Thrilled," Dean muttered, dropping into a chair. He looked up at the nurse. "Thanks, Janice."

"Anytime, Dean. Thanks for letting me know." She smiled knowingly at a sulking Sam and took her leave.

"Sam, you are going to take the pain pills as Dr. Howard prescribed them, or I'm not letting them discharge you," Dean said in a hard voice.

Sam glared. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," Dean suggested. "I mean it, Sam. I know you hate them, and I know they make you sleepy, but you need them. And I'm not going to drag your ass across the country to Bobby's without them." He looked Sam in the eye. "You'd never make it, and you know it."

Sam scowled. He knew Dean was right. But he didn't have to like it. "You're a fine one to talk," he blustered.

"Hey, I'm one of a kind," Dean smirked. He might go without, but there was no way he was going to let Sam dodge out on the medication. He changed the subject.

"So, Bobby made arrangements to have a hospital bed with a special mattress and a wheelchair with a fancy cushion delivered to his house while we're on the road. He's going to have a fellow hunter let them in, and watch over while they set it up in the study. You'll have all the books around, you'll be in geek heaven."

"What? A hospital bed?" Sam looked surprised. "Why?"

"Why?" Dean echoed incredulously, staring at his brother. "Sam, you can't set foot on the ground for at least another month, and even then you'll be pretty limited. And it's not like you can get upstairs to the guestroom. You also bruised your tailbone and your back severely enough that just sitting for any length of time is going to be lousy for quite awhile. You can't hide that. I've watched you, and you think I haven't noticed?"

He waited for a response, not surprised that none was forthcoming, and continued. "If that isn't enough, then maybe should I mention your hip? Don't think I can't tell that's still killing you, too. How about your wrist and shoulder? Headaches? You may try to hide it, but you won't get it by me. I could go on if you want me to?" He finished expectantly.

He looked for a moment at his chastened brother, then added quietly. "Dude, where else did you think you'd be spending most of your time?"

Sam just looked at him, crestfallen. He hadn't thought about it. He hadn't WANTED to think about it. He'd kind of stopped thinking past getting out of the hospital. But truth be told, the only way he was even relatively comfortable was lying on his side. "Crap."

Dean shook his head. "Sam, well, to be honest, right now I'm just worried about the prospect of dragging your ass cross country, even with Bobby to help."

Dammit, Dean thought, Sam just had to turn on those damn puppy eyes of his on him. He knew Dean couldn't resist them. "But it's not like we won't do it," he said gruffly, shifting uncomfortably. "But you're going to obey every word I say, got it?"

Sam just nodded glumly, frustration written all over his face, but Dean had scared him enough to realize the seriousness of the situation. The reality that this recovery would take awhile and would be difficult was finally setting in.

Dean looked on in sympathy. Both he and Sam had been active all their lives, and neither took recuperating easily. But this had been bad. Sam had been hurt worse than he could ever remember. He wasn't going to let him short his recuperation time. He was going to need every minute, and Dean was going to be right there, making up for the last few months.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. "So, what did Doc Howard say about your memories?"

Sam shrugged. "He said it's likely I won't remember anything, mostly because of the drugs, and the shock. He also thinks I probably had a mild concussion when I came out of the woods as well."

Dean chewed his lower lip, thinking. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam thought a moment. "I guess walking out of the motel room to get some more ice. About 9:30 or so. After that, it's hard to tell what's a memory and what's a dream caused by drugs or fever. I remembered that ghost. His face was familiar, I think. Maybe a cave. And knives, stuff like that. Being on a table and not able to get away. Fever dreams, like I said. Then, I guess being here."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Probably better than you don't remember, Sammy. You were hurt pretty bad." All Dean could see in his mind was Sam, the way he looked when he had wandered out of the frigid woods, bloody and nearly catatonic, walking on severely damaged feet and not feeling a thing. He shuddered briefly.

Sam furrowed his brow at the slight motion. "Why? What did you see in the cavern, Dean?"

"Just the usual crap you find in an abandoned mine, Sam. Nothing more, nothing less."

Just the instruments of torture and the evidence of the sick minds behind it. Surgical instruments with Sam's blood on them, and row after row of evidence of horrendous experiments and tests on the dirty workbench. Other victim's personal effects and the echoes of dying screams. Dean knew he'd have nightmares about it for years, knowing his brother was one of the victims. Better Sam just thought his own nightmares were just fever dreams as well. He had enough recovery in front of him as it was.

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. Something told him that Dean was lying. "Dean?" He said slowly. "What happened to the stuff in the mine?"

Dean looked at his brother's wrists, still encased in thick, pristine white bandages protecting the careful stitches, and saw the exam tables' hardened, filthy straps. He saw his brother sitting in front of him, dressed in a crisp hospital gown and looking scrubbed clean, comfortably tucked into a bed with fresh, starched sheets and warm blankets, and remembered finding his hoodie on the workbench in the dark, dusty cavern - blood stiffened, stained and splotched with who knew what. And finding what remained of his jeans, sliced into ribbons.

"Dean?" Sam looked concerned.

Dean gave himself an internal shake and forced himself to smile. "Leary finished his investigation, then Bobby and I torched the place."

Sam blinked. "You did what?"

"Torched it. Wanted to make sure we got everything. Salted and burned. Goodbye ghosties," Dean smirked.

But it had been more than that. It had been wiping the memory of the place and the horrors that had happened there off the face of the earth. Putting the dead victims to rest, with nothing to tie them to this plain, it they were indeed still around. He'd left what he found of Sam's there too. Better incinerated than left to bring back bad memories. It had been cathartic for Dean.

Sam nodded slowly. He knew his brother well. It was probably better he didn't remember.

Their reflective silence was broken by a tap on the room door, followed by the appearance of Bobby and Leary.

"Can we come in?" Leary asked, poking his head in.

Dean waved them in, glad of the subject change. He could tell from his brother's face that he was absorbing what Dean had told him. Dean knew Sam would come to terms with the situation, and deal. He just had to give him a little time.

"Anything new?" Dean asked, twisting around in his chair and the newcomers entered.

"Are you kidding?" Bobby asked. "More like what story is Leary concocting to make sense of all of this," he snorted as he sat down. He looked up at Sam. "How you doin', kid?"

Sam nodded, still looking downcast. "Fine."

Bobby shot a quick look at Dean, who shook his head slightly and mouthed 'later'. Bobby nodded, and turned his attention back to Leary.

"Bobby's got that right. We have too many unknowns. Like how the victims were taken, how there were chosen. Any ideas on that, Sam?"

Sam shook his head, brightening up somewhat as his mind started to work on the problem. "Frankly no. Some theories, maybe, by no clue. I don't remember a thing."

_'That's my boy_,' Dean thought as he saw Sam perking up. Give him a puzzle to chew over, and Sam was happy as a clam.

"Did you ever figure out who the live one was?" Dean asked, curious. He hadn't been involved much in the aftermath. Once the bodies were salted and burned, he felt his job was Sam, not the after-investigation. Therefore, he was a little out of the loop. Bobby had split his time between the investigation and the Winchesters, helping as needed, wherever needed.

Leary shrugged. "No. And frankly, I doubt we ever will. No hits on DNA, no hits on fingerprints, nothing. No ID in the cave.

They worked over the problems for awhile. Nobody had been able to come up with how the victims were taken, or dropped in the forest. The only thing that fit the evidence was teleportation, as the cave was sealed and nobody could get in or out. The silence was deafening after that theory was floated.

"Well, I've heard crazier things," Dean finally commented.

"Like the ghost of a deranged serial killer still murdering victims?" Leary asked, a small smile on his face.

"You're taking this well," Dean smirked.

"I guess," Leary snorted. "Unfortunately, the oddball stuff keeps finding me."

"And that's how hunter's are made," Bobby snorted.

Sam finally said, "I guess the only thing we really know is that it's over."

Thoughtful nods were the only answer he got as everyone contemplated the thought. Then, the talk turned to more mundane, down to earth subjects.

Leary finally slapped his hands on his thighs and got up. "Well, I'd better get back to work. So, Dean, pool again tonight?" He looked inquiringly.

"You bet. Late night at the bar."

Leary nodded. "See you then." He waved at Sam. "Take it easy, Sam. See you tomorrow."

Sam nodded towards him in acknowledgement. "'Later." He turned to Dean. "Pool? With Leary?" He arched an eyebrow.

"What? Gotta' earn our keep," Dean pointed out, grinning slightly. "Besides, it gives me something to do while you're getting your beauty sleep," he pointed out.

Sam shook his head. "Boy, do you like to live dangerously. Hustling a Sergeant."

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "He's cool. Besides, I'm winning." He grinned, resembling a shark.

Bobby spoke up. "Dean, you might want to be a little more careful."

Dean smirked. "Why? Think he'll throw me in jail?"

"There's a reason that there are so few games in this town," Bobby muttered.

"Oh, come on, Bobby, it's not like I'm an amateur."

Bobby snorted. "Don't you think that maybe he's just loosening you up? Getting you to get cocky?"

"Geez, Bobby. Lighten up!" Dean groaned. "I could spot a hustle, and he ain't it."

Bobby grinned wickedly. "Leary and I got talking the other night. And he told me a few things. One of which was who taught him the tricks."

Sam's eyes got huge after a moment. "No . . ."

Dean suddenly blanched. "You don't mean . . ."

"John Winchester himself." Bobby snickered. "Now who's hustling who?"

**Epilogue**

It was several days later that Sam was finally able to begin the journey to Bobby's. It seemed forever before he was finally in the Impala's backseat, sitting carefully, and supported by the special lumbar and seat cushions provided by the hospital. But he was finally free, and enjoyed every minute of it. He watched the scenery going by as if it were all new, and listening to Bobby and Dean shooting the breeze.

Every once in awhile, one or the other would look back and ask him if he was okay. He always nodded. Sometimes he joined in the conversation for a bit. But mostly he just drank in the freedom, and the joy of being out of the hospital and getting at least a part of his life back. He was just content to let it wash over him.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but suddenly the car was stopped, Dean was talking softly to him, and getting him to swallow some pills. Then he was being eased down onto his side on the wide bench seat and onto a waiting pillow that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. He drifted comfortably, listening, but not really hearing, the soft commentary from his brother while Dean moved other pillows around for better support.

Dean finished by carefully cushioned Sam's feet on another pillow, fixed his seatbelt loosely around his hips, and finally covered him up with a warm blanket. Sam drifted, until Dean laid a hand on his forehead, and said "Go back to sleep, Sam. You won't get a crick in your neck this way." Sam thought he mumbled something in return, but didn't honestly remember much after that.

The next thing he knew, the car was moving again, filled with the hum of the road, and Metallica turned down low, with Dean's and Bobby's voices a soft counterpoint up front. Substitute Dad for Bobby, and he had his childhood. He listened to the comforting sounds, warm and drowsy as he drifted on the back seat and realized that he was indeed home and things were just fine.

_Fini_


End file.
